


emma swan is fucked

by strangesmallbard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/F, Fluff and Angst, pre-Swan Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangesmallbard/pseuds/strangesmallbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It was (probably) the morning Emma decided to jog for the first time in six months where it all started.” </p><p>Or Emma Swan and the ketchup bottle effect: slowly, then all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	emma swan is fucked

**Author's Note:**

> i really could not tell you what this is. some strange combo of fluffy + srs fanfiction, with a few satirical elements and a bit of deconstructionism? also taylor swift. this was written partly two months ago and partly in the last day after i realized i hadn’t posted anything since september. enjoy?

It was (probably) the morning Emma decided to jog for the first time in six months where it all started. Or maybe it was about two years ago when her biological child found her and brought her to this town of wacky and to his scary, and also scary-hot adoptive mom, but if Emma thinks about that too long her head hurts and so yes. It was that morning. 

Regina’s hair is in that cute (what the fuck, Swan) ponytail she’s been sporting lately and she’s wearing a tracksuit that looks so nice it shouldn’t be sweated on. Does Regina even sweat. Why is  _Emma_ sweating. She’s barely jogged a mile. Storybrooke is so small. (Too small, sometimes it just feels like a cage, but no she can’t think like that anymore. If it’s a cage then it’s a cage with plush leather chairs and wifi and well,  _family.)_ She has earbuds on, and Emma has a sudden confusing need to know what music she’s listening to. 

Emma’s on a Taylor Swift binge. (Don’t you dare judge, mom, remember David’s fake marriage and  _You Belong With Me_.) 

She’s been two or so paces behind Regina for ten minutes and it’s feeling weird because Regina hasn’t noticed yet, so she half leaps forward to be next to her. That’s probably weirder. Regina still kind of hates her. 

Before Emma can duck out of this increasingly hopeless situation, Regina glances at her. Her eyebrow raises. That vein in her forehead pops. She takes out an earbud. Oh no. (Crackly strains of something that sounds like  _The Smiths_ play from the discarded earbud. Strange. She would have thought more-so intense Beethoven.)

“Ms. Swan.” Regina says, stops jogging and schools her expression. She leans her head to the side and ever so slightly lets her neck crack. Emma inwardly shrieks.

Oh well. Fake it till’ you make it, Swan. “Hey Regina!” She plasters a smile on her face and pretends she isn’t winded. “I didn’t know you jogged.”

Regina purses her lips and drapes her arm across her chest to stretch it out. She ceases to look at Emma. Emma finds herself thinking about Regina’s biceps. She could probably match Emma in a weight-lifting contest. They’re nice biceps. (That’s the dehydration thinking.) 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Are you going to stop interrupting my morning jog, now? I have to make Henry breakfast.”

Emma’s smile falters. “Right. Sorry to bother you.” She begins to jog away, way too forlornly. It’s not like they’re friends again. Were they ever friends? She shouldn’t be feeling like, Regina rejected her for prom or something. Wait no, that’s not even a friend feeling. Why did she forget her water bottle, honestly.

“Emma.” She turns around quickly. She winces. Neck crick.

Regina takes a deep breath and crosses her arms. “Henry wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow night. I expect you  _won’t_  disappoint our son?”

Our son. Oursonoursonourson.

Emma’s voice is hoarse when she answers. “Yeah.” 

Then Regina smiles. It’s a small smile, just her lips quirking up, but her eyes are so big and deep and kind of a golden-y brown in the new, bright sunlight just streaming in, and breathe Emma,  _breathe_.

“Good. See you tomorrow, 7 sharp.” 

Emma nods. Regina nods back and jogs passed her and Emma decides that a jog is the opposite of what she needs. She needs netflix and hot chocolate. 

Maybe more Taylor Swift.

* * *

Emma really wants to hate Robin and Marian. Like she  _really, really_  does. She fully intended to flat out ignore them in Granny’s when she made her morning coffee and bearclaw run, but then they called her over and now she’s coloring with their son.

“Can you please pass the green, Sheriff Emma?” Roland asks with those cute dimples and big eyes and why is their son so polite, why are they so wonderful, it’s not fair. Emma’s just trying to be a good friend. Good friends hate exes, right? Whatever. She’s going to color this…..gnome thing with all the pride and dignity she can muster.

“You’re good with him.” Marian observes and smiles and takes a sip of her tea. She’s made the switch from long gowns to a soft maroon sweater and jeans. It’s as if she weren’t dead about two months ago. She needs to stop thinking about that.

Emma gives a small grin and lightly ruffles his hair. “I raised Henry for ten years, er, sort of. Long story. Coloring time is sacred.” Roland looks up at her and nods reverently, even though he probably has no idea what that means.

“Henry’s a good lad. You should be very proud.” Robin says. His smile is a little tight, doesn’t quite reach the eyes, and Emma can feel the Regina shaped elephant in the room.

She holds his gaze. “I am.” Robin lowers his eyes before Roland proudly presents his green and purple deer. Robin praises it and promises to put it up on the refrigerator when they get home. God Robin and Marian live together. God. Emma is a horrible person. She colors her gnome a little bit more harshly.

“I know Henry is back to living with…Regina.” Marian swallows. Emma’s glad Marian’s more or less joined the Regina isn’t a shitty person camp. It makes this town less of a potential hazard to Sheriff. Though them being friends is a longshot, Emma hopes that maybe their sons will provide the common ground for bonding.  

“So, would you perhaps like to babysit some time?” Her smile is soft, and Emma wants to cry a little bit because this smile came at the expense of Regina’s happiness, and these things honestly need to stop happening and need to stop being Emma’s fault.

Emma looks at little Roland and feels her heart clench because yeah, she misses Henry, fake memories and real memories and all. “I’d like that.”

Of course Regina walks in a few seconds later, stares at Emma holding the damn crayon, and her lips purse, but she says nothing and goes up to the counter like she never saw them. Like Emma meant to do in the first place.

_Goddamnit._

* * *

She only barely remembers to call Hook and call off their date. He whines a little bit, but relents when she promises to push it to the next day. She should probably examine the bit of relief she felt when he hangs up, but no. That was a hard thing. Emma’s trying really hard to expunge all hard, complicated things from her life.

However, they keep cropping up in spade. Like Regina in a deep blue hip-hugging dress, with bouncy soft hair just grazing her shoulders for instance.

Emma crinkles the paper bag around her bottle of merlot to stave off the sudden nervousness coiling in her gut. She should have worn something nicer than skinny jeans and a leather jacket. How Emma didn’t feel the need to dress up for Regina when every date with Hook requires mascara wands and dresses and actually doing up her hair is another one of those Hard Things she’s going to leave for tomorrow. Or for the wine.

“Hi.” She stuffs her other hand in her pocket. Regina’s holding an apron and her mouth opens and closes a few times.

“You’re early.” 

Emma struck by deja vu; she remembers this exact nervousness and this exact time of day, Regina’s hair shorter and coiffed and her brows drawn and her expression stormy and malicious. Actually that was probably the first time Regina threatened her life. Which shouldn’t make her feel sudden pangs of nostalgia for a simpler time.

Emma gives a nervous smile. “I thought I could help set the table? Or help with dinner.”

Regina’s eyes become soft like they always do when their kid is mentioned. “Henry’s actually making dinner today. He’s been learning how to make pasta dishes.”

Emma raises a brow. “Lasagna?”

“Baked Ziti. He found the recipe online. I’m supervising, of course.”

There’s a pause and Emma crinkles the bag again. “I brought wine.” She says, unhelpfully.

Regina shifts on her feet and sighs.“I have plenty of wine. Come on in, Ms. Swan.” 

Emma rolls her eyes and sighs back as she walks in. The house is as big and full of echoes as always, but somehow seems warmer. It might be the fresh flowers on the table by the stairs. It might be the smell of dinner cooking, or soft strains of  _The Smiths_  playing from the kitchen (hey, she was right). Or it just might be sunset streaming in pinks and yellows on the hardwood. In any case, Emma’s heart starts aching and she’s not sure why.

“I’m sorry about this morning.” She says to Regina’s back. She stops and tenses. Turns around. Her eyebrow is raised.

“What about?”

“Robin. And Marian. And coloring.”

Regina’s arches a brow. “Why on earth are you apologizing for that?”

Emma shrugs. “I don’t know. You. Me.” 

“You and me?” Regina says, and Emma is probably imagining her voice getting a little softer.

Emma clears her throat. “Our new friendship thing. I don’t want to ruin it by making nice with your ex’s family.”

Regina raises a brow. “This isn’t highschool.”

“You never  _went_  to highschool.”

“I watched plenty of television.”

“Not the same thing, Regina.”

Regina crosses her arms. “Well, I was under the impression that television more or less represents whatever situation is being depicted.”

“I mean, yeah, but there’s a difference between  _Saved By the Bell_ and like,  _Buffy the Vampire Slayer._ ”

Regina allows a small smirk and uncrosses her arms. “Considering we’re practically living on a hellmouth right now, is there truly?”

Emma blinks. “Wait, you…?” 

“I what?”

Emma  _swore_  she saw VHS tapes of Xena in Regina’s office one time, but she convinced herself that it was just Wishful Thinking. Now, that could be in the ballpark of reality. Regina’s ballpark.

These are thoughts that cause Mary Margaret’s appliances to be destroyed, so Emma stops them in their tracks.

“Does Henry need help in the kitchen?” She asks, because a subject change is really needed.

Regina laughs, all bigness and sunshine and full. Emma shifts on her feet again, attempts to eradicate all thoughts of  _her smile is goddamn beautiful_.  “You can  _try_ , but if he throws flour at you, I won’t be blamed.”

Her kid is a bit of an asshole. But also  _her_  asshole. Just like his mother.

Wait.  _No._  

“I’ll take my chances with the resident Teen Grump,” She says and Regina laughs again, and Emma’s stomach is mush. Certified mush.

“Regardless, I have to get back to watching him. You may put the wine on the table if you would like.”

Emma nods, and crinkles the bag one more time for good measure. 

“Okay but,” back to the subject at hand, Swan, “if it makes you uncomfortable that I’m friends with Robin and Marian–”

“Emma, I don’t want to talk about this. Tonight is supposed to be….pleasant. For us to, I mean, for Henry’s sake, to make steps towards a better….” She waves her hand and purses her lips. “…working parental relationship.”

Emma raises a brow. “Working parental–?”

Regina sighs. “You know what I mean, Swan.”

She doesn’t, not exactly, not anymore if she ever did. But that’s yet another Hard, Complicated that thing she’s going to leave for another day or like, another century. 

“Just give me an answer, and I’ll go back to  _Buffy_  references, I swear.”

Her brow furrows. “Even if it  _does_ make me uncomfortable, who am I to stop any friendship you want?”

Emma shrugs. “You’re more important.” She doesn’t know why her voice is hoarse than she says that. She doesn’t even know how the words  _happened_. Because, holy shit that was a declaration of  _something_ , of Emma Swan’s perpetual word vomit, feelings, stupidity, holy shit. Regina’s eyes have widened, and her mouth is slightly parted.

“I mean,” Emma quickly says, scratching the back of her neck. “You’re my son’s mom, and we’ve gone through a lot of shit together, and like, I just. I don’t want to mess this up. Again. I want to be the friend you can rely on for stuff. Marian and Robin are cool, but. If you need me to lay low about it around you–”

“No.” Regina says, her arms crossed again. “Don’t you dare tip-toe around me, Ms. Swan. I will  _not_  be coddled.”

Emma breathes. “I wasn’t. I just care about you, and I want you to believe that.”

Regina’s eyes soften ever so lightly, but her brow furrows and lips purse. “Even if I believed that, you don’t understand yet. Intentional or not, you still took something away from me.”

“I don’t regret saving Marian’s life.” Emma reminds.

“And I’ll never expect you to. Just……actions have consequences. And very often I suffer the brunt of them.” Regina clears her throat, wraps her arms around her waist and breathes. She places on a small, fairly fake smile.  “Let’s go see if dinner is ready.”

“Regina.” Emma says as she’s walking away because wow her word vomit tonight just  _cannot_  stop, but her heart has plummeted into her stomach and she’s shivering, and she just  _needs_  her to know, and really just  _needs_ to understand this depth of caring and what it means. She needs to know why losing Regina sounds pretty unbearable. 

“I’ll be here for you as long as….you know. I want you to have your happy ending too.” (Does she have her own happy ending yet? Who fucking knows).

Regina gives one of those small half-smiles, and says nothing.

* * *

It’s completely totally a-okay to be  _this_  nervous for dinner with a friend. And the child you share with that friend. Regina’s skin is really soft when she accidentally brushes your hand when passing the baked ziti, and the small half-smile she gives you at least three times is also okay. It’s totally. Completely fine. These are regular, friendship-type emotions. 

Emma runs all this through her head like a mantra on a broken record: fine fine, totally fine, fine fine fine–

Then Taylor Swift’s  _You Are in Love_  plays when she turns on her stereo and fuck. FUCK.

F U C K.

* * *

Halfway through her first drink she decides that Taylor Swift is fucking  _wrong_ , and she resolves to burn her 1989 CD when she gets home.

(Except she won’t. Because  _Welcome to New York_ is too damn catchy).

“I hate Taylor Swift.” She says to Ruby, who’s nursing her own glass of beer.

“What did she ever do to you? Besides I’m in  _love_  with her new album.”

Emma thinks about soft smiles and conversations about intention and caring and happy endings and  _consequences_ , and the fact that she understands, but she doesn’t. She gets Regina on  _many_  levels, but some are out of her grasp. Regina’s also beautiful and can be funny and snarky, and has these  _soft eyes_ and apparently watches Buffy the Vampire Slayer and jogs with a cute ponytail, and this is all causing Emma’s bisexuality a lot more pain than she ever anticipated. 

Emma also has a boyfriend. And there’s a raging snow queen causing havoc in this town she’s Sheriffing. Also fucking _Elsa_ showed up, and now they’re friends. She honestly wants to run around town naked singing show tunes from the forties, maybe then she’ll  _wake up_  in a life that remotely makes sense. Double-negative weirdness makes normality, or whatever.

“Ruby.” She says very seriously. “What the  _fuck_ is my life.”

Ruby blinks twice, then shrugs. “Whatever you make of it, Emma.”

“Cursed Ruby would have said something funnier.” Emma mumbles.

Luckily Ruby doesn’t take offense, maybe because Emma’s drunk and kind of her goddaughter (what), and just pats her on the arm.

* * *

Emma probably (definitely) shouldn’t have had that third beer. Then maybe she’d still have her car keys. Her car keys that are currently in Ruby’s pocket. Her car keys that have her house keys attached to them. Because she has a house. A one bedroom house with a kitchen nook and a tiny porch, something she thought she’d never want until she realized that yet another shitty apartment wasn’t the only option.

Now, though.  _Now_  she wishes she still lived with her parents and little brother. And it takes a very certain situation, namely being a little drunk, and a little bit more locked out than she’d prefer to be at 3 in the morning. Hell. She’s not even drunk anymore. That’s the shitty thing about a fast metabolism: getting drunk and  _staying_  drunk is way too difficult.

Her windows are even locked because she listened to Regina about personal safety for once.

Regina.

Emma’s fingertip is hovering over her name on her contact’s list before she’s even thought it  _through-_ Like, Regina isn’t going to be up now, Regina’s going to be pissed, she’s probably wearing that fleecy grey robe because Regina loves being comfortable more than anything, and how does Emma know that, honestly, but also Regina’s kind of her friend now and that’s less strange than it probably should be, but it’s also absolutely  _freezing_ outside and-

Fuck. She’s calling Regina.

Two rings in and she literally shivers, wishes she could transform her usual leather jacket into a giant parka, but so far her magic is limited to battle techniques, not anything remotely practical.

Maybe Regina could teach-

“Emma?”

Emma shifts on her feet. “Hey.”

“It’s three  _am_.” Her voice is scratchy from sleep, which means she  _was_  asleep, which means she might be sleeping full nights again and wow Emma feels absolutely shitty, also she really needs to figure out why she’s still imagining sleepy bedtime Regina and why that curls something very unknown and very confused in her stomach. But not now. (Okay maybe never.)

“I know. I’m sorry, I just. Kind of. Maybe.” She breathes. “Locked myself out? I mean I’m not used to living alone, I guess, which is kinda weird because I lived basically alone for about ten years, but well. Here I am. And it’s dragon breath cold outside.” Goddamnit, Swan. She shifts again on her feet and waits, probably for some yelling.

There is no yelling, however. Just a sharp intake of breath, some rustling.

Emma sighs. “Look, I-”

“I’m coming to pick you up, just don’t freeze to death beforehand. We’ve had enough of  _that_  nonsense this month.” Then she hangs up. 

Regina's coming. (She really shouldn’t be this giddy, it’s  _3 am_ , god.) She’s coming and Emma feels strong pangs of guilt cornering that excitement in every moment she’s waiting. Emma didn’t even have to  _ask._  It didn’t even occur to her to ask. And even if she it did occur to her, she doubts she actually would have. Because honestly, when has anyone ever come when she’s needed them?

That very unknown, confused feeling is back, increased tenfold, and  _wow,_ it’s time to sit down. 

She may not be drunk anymore, but standing just sounds like a bad plan.

* * *

Later on she’s situated in Regina’s car with blessed, blessed heating systems and even for your  _ass_ , heaven must be real, when she realizes that Regina’s staring at her. Not like Regina usually stares at her, which is either amusement, annoyance, or this weird fondness that never fails to at least fluster Emma a little. This time, however, it’s a furrowed brow and wide, wide brown eyes, and slightly parted lips.

“What?” Emma asks and wraps her arms around herself even though she’s getting gradually warmed up.

“Was I the first person you called?” Regina asks, soft and still a little scratchy.

Emma reaches up to hold the back of her neck. “Uh yeah. You didn’t need to, I mean-”

Regina looks at her like she’s the biggest dipshit, but  _still_ has those soft eyes and she really. Really can’t handle that now. She can’t handle a lot of Regina and their entire relationship sometimes. She needs to go to bed.

“Why not Hook? Surely he’d drop whatever rum bottle he’s nursing to help his girlfriend in need.” Regina clears her throat.

Hook. Emma blanches. Her boyfriend. Hook. Killian. Why didn’t she call her boyfriend. God. She doesn’t know. Hook is presumably available. She’s kind of his only friend besides her dad, and they still don’t  _hang out_  or anything. Goddamn, goddamn.

Emma doesn’t answer, not even an  _I don’t know_ , and she thinks she hears Regina sigh before they drive to her house.

Emma also can’t handle the fact that Regina’s laid out fresh pajamas on the bed, ibuprofen on the side table, and towels in the bathroom. Not at all.

“Thanks for……… Seriously, really, thanks.” She finally manages as Regina’s leaving.

“I’d hardly leave you out in the cold, Emma.” Regina says with a little smile and an eyebrow raised, and Emma doesn’t know how to breathe again, (god what is  _happening),_  before she closes the door with a soft click.


End file.
